Imperfect Facsimile
by Mia Void
Summary: An SI of new proportions, with one of the less utilized characters in the Sailor Moon-verse, starting after the Death Busters. Possible Shoujoai beyond Michiru and Haruka


Imperfect Facsimile

A Sailor Moon SI by Mia Void

Disclaimer: Yep, you read that right, this is an SI. But before you judge, I'd suggest reading it through; I'm doing my best to avoid all the clichés found in almost every SI fic imaginable. Believe me, it's not hard to find them, I've done some research. (shudder)

…Oh, and I don't own Sailor Moon. Or the weird amalgamation of the manga and anime canon I'm using.

Warnings:

-Femmeslash/Yuri/Shoujoai (oh come on now, there's Haruka and Michiru to consider at the very least…)

-Language : A few choice words, nothing too serious.

-Violence (Hey, in Sailor Moon, things get blown up, and people die. Whether or not Sailor Moon heals them is the deciding factor)

_**Prologue**_: What the?...

It was a Monday. And it was snowing.

I've never been partial to either, really, despite living as far North in the 48 continental United States would allow, and the fact that any and all sane people hate Mondays should be more than enough justification for you.

But this particular Monday was bad for…well, for a different reason.

I leaned back in my less than comfortable, standard issue "Despite the thousands of dollars your parents are paying, we still like to pay lowest bidder" dormitory chair, my hands resting on the keyboard of my trusty HP Pavilion 522.

I was one of the lucky ones, to be honest. While horror stories were being flung about left and right about Vista, as those snarky Mac Ads liked to proclaim, I had never had any problems.

Unfortunately for me, that meant claiming that my computer had totally fried wouldn't hold water for more than 30 seconds when the time came in to hand in my end of term paper for some nameless 5000 level English class.

"Hey, you." My roommate Helena walked through the open door, plopping down on her cyan blue mattress cover. "How's it going with the paper?"

I shrugged, staring at the one sentence I had printed so far.

_Shannon Smith_

"That bad, huh?"

Helena's shoulder length blonde hair drifted down to cover my face, and I brushed it out of the way, turning to look at her.

"You do know the meaning behind the term privacy, right?"

"You do know the meaning behind the term procrastination, right?" She threw back the gauntlet, her cerulean eyes flashing in playful challenge.

I sighed. "Helena, we've been roommates since freshman year, you know I don't like my computer being read without my permission."

"Ah, yes, you don't want to get caught looking up more-"

I stammered.

"I **told **you, I wasn't looking up anything like…like that!"

"What's the matter girl, still haven't gotten any?"

"None of your business," I glared back, refusing to be teased by this insufferable woman.

After the first few tries, my glare was less than effective on Helena's mental armor.

She shrugged again, moving back to her own computer, and pulled up Microsoft Word.

"What are you working on, then?"

"Wait, weren't you the one who just chastised me for my invasion of your constitutional rights?"

"Turnabout is fair play," I shot back, but kept my tone light, and Helena smiled.

"And if I said I wasn't going to give in to your dictatorial demands?"

I smirked.

"A few less than innocent photos may find their way into….one interested girlfriend."

"You wouldn't dare!" Helena breathed out, face tightening in mock anger.

"Oh, I would." I replied. "A picture of you in those Spongebob pajamas, curled up like a little kid, hugging your teddy bear would kinda ruin that whole "tough girl" vibe you use in front of her, wouldn't it?"

"I'd just say it'd been photo shopped." My roommate sniffed, but I caught a twitch of a smile on her face as she turned back to focus on her monitor.

"Okay, okay, I give. I'm just working on another chapter for my story."

"You mean that fanfiction stuff?" I asked, curious despite myself. Ever since Freshman year, Helena had been a writer, which, I must admit, had encouraged me somewhat.

"Yep." Helena's fingers flew over her keyboard, words appearing deftly on the screen in time with the clacking of keys.

"Which one are you updating this time?"

"The Rama/Sailor Moon crossover."

I thought hard for a moment.

"That's…the one with the boy who changes gender with a curse, right?"

She nodded distractedly, still typing.

"And Sailor Moon…are those girls who have magic?"

"Mmmhmm."

I faked gagging, and Helena twitched, her fingers pausing.

"Why is it that you don't like them? They're just fictional characters, Shannon…"

"Yeah, and from what I remember-"

"You watched it?" Helena interrupted smoothly, raising an eyebrow.

"I saw it when I was like six." I admitted.

"The dub?" It was Helena's turn to make a gagging noise. "I guess I can understand it, then…"

"No," I shook my head, brown strands escaping their proper place from behind my ears, to which I responded with an irritated puff of air. Returning the errant hair to its proper place, I continued.

"Something about that Crystal Tokyo seems kind of…off.

Helena's eyes widened.

"Ah."

She held up a hand to stop any further discussion.

"I get it. You're one of those who think Moon's brainwashed ever single citizen into mindless zombies."

"Huh?" I asked, lost.

"Well…." Helena mocked for a moment before grinning. ", I don't agree with you, but I understand your opinion. You should really see some of the fights the fans of the show have, it gets crazy."

"Nah, I'd rather not." I teased. "I've never been one for confrontation."

"I swear we need one of those "insert a dollar every time Shannon lies" jars." Helena muttered, as I chuckled.

"You mock me just because you know I'd be rich…come to think of it, you should watch the show again, get a fresh perspective.

I shot her a "Are you kidding" look.

"I've seen what that stuff does to your bank account, Helena. I'm barely making tuition payments as it is, not to mention a trip to Europe this summer...in which a spot is still open for you, by the way."

"I'm thinking on it." Helena spoke, her focus once again on her writing.

"Just don't think too long." I teased. "We both know how you'll get dragged down in both sides of the issue."

And, of course, I should have known my stubborn roommate wouldn't' let that go without a fight.

"Don't you have a paper to write by Friday?"

My fingers balled into fists. As much as I liked her, she knew exactly which buttons would leave her the undisputed victor in our little verbal scuffles.

Without another word, I was grabbing my coat and out the door.

123123123

Never let it be said that neither Helena nor I were the most hospitable of people. We'd had our fights over the time we've spent together, and each of us, being intelligent young women, were able to learn the other's buttons rather quickly.

The specific two in this instance were as follows: Helena would not tolerate her hobby being made fun of, and I hated being reminded of due dates in a condescending manner.

I'm sure that to someone who didn't know either of us, it would sound downright ridiculous, if not at least a little odd for me to storm off like that.

If the query were to be raised, I would go so far only as to point out that the person asking likely didn't have a domineering mother who just happened to be a high school teacher.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not angsty, and certainly not broody enough to complain about it. I love my family dearly, but sometimes…it got a little crazy back home.

I shook my head to clear my thoughts, and paused in front of a local McDonalds.

After exiting the store, my wallet 3 dollars and 79 cents lighter, a triple thick vanilla milkshake firmly embedded in my grasp, I stopped to look through the semi-reflective glass.

A twenty two year old woman stared back at me, waist long brown hair dipping back past my head, brown eyes still smoldering.

I sighed, trying to ease the tension from my features. While it was true that I wasn't beautiful in the classical sense; I knew that relatively speaking, I was far from ugly.

Years of soccer and running had helped keep me in shape, and my six feet and one inch height had Helena calling me Xena once or twice.

But, on some instinctive level, I knew why Helena was able to make quips on my current love life, or lack thereof.

While I was out of the closet, like Helena, I was still rather…shy about it.

While the U was rather liberal, having gone through high school trapped in the closet, (visions of that terrible R. Kelly series flashed through my mind for a moment, and I shuddered helplessly.) I was still rather…unsure of how to act on my new freedom.

A vibration in my pocket brought me out of my musings.

I flicked open my Razor as I headed for the intersection, reading the text.

"Sry. Meet for pizza?"

I smiled slightly, my bad mood disappearing. Pizza had quickly become our way of making up after our little spats, and I was never one to hold a grudge.

"Sure, be back in a few." I texted back.

I stood waiting at the intersection, sipping my comfort shake while waiting for the light to change.

Across the street, my eyes flickered from the do not walk sign to the woman standing next to it.

My breath caught.

She was magnificent, that was for certain. I'd never been one to ogle, but something about this woman…

Asian in ethnicity, dark black hair, with flickers of purple splaying gently through the slight wind, a near perfect figure…though the skirt and blouse combination was decidedly odd, considering this sort of weather. However, the pearl earrings and extravagant necklace forced me to reevaluate my perceptions.

I sighed. Why did all the really good looking ones have to be crazy? It must be some sort of incredible karma…

As I turned my focus back to the light, which was now flashing the a-okay to walk across, I caught the woman now staring at me.

And her gaze wasn't exactly…innocent.

It was a cross between a leer, a smirk, and something that sent the skin on the back of my neck tingling…but not in a pleasant way.

My throat clenched as my mind flashed back to reports of attacks about a week or so ago.

Several women had been…stopped, I guess you would call it. Though, in each case, there was nothing stolen, and no harm done. A dark figure had merely accosted them, stopped them…and each girl had blacked out, awakening a minute or so later.

The police had stepped up patrols around the area, and it seemed to have worked.

"Stop it," I muttered to myself as I moved down the crosswalk. "You're just being paranoid now, just move past her, you've got pizza waiting, remember?"

The woman made no move to head down the crosswalk, and my paranoia heightened.

I walked slowly, one hand reaching into my jacket pocket, pretending to go for a tazer or pepper spray.

The next thing I knew, I was lying on the ground, wondering idly how I'd gotten there.

Then, came the feeling of hitting the hard asphalt, the wind knocked out of me, and…PAIN!

My vocal chords were suddenly raw, and I realized numbly that I was probably screaming for all I was worth.

I tried to lift my head, but only succeeded in turning it to one side, catching site of the truck that had hit me.

I watched as the driver leapt out of his pickup and ran over, as well as…the woman from earlier?

"I'm going into shock…" I tried to mouth, but no words came out, only more screaming, which failed to pierce my growing fog.

My vision dimmed, and the last thing I caught was the woman smirking at me as she knelt down next to me…and then it all went black.

123123123

I opened my eyes slowly, blinking to clear them as a bright light hit my eyes.

"Are you Shannon Smith"sIU?"

"I am," I answered calmly, though my mind was racing. "I don't suppose you'd be Saint Peter?"

The voice chuckled, and my circle of light shrank, the darkness around it growing to take over the space.

"No."

It was feminine, that much I was sure of.

"Mary Magdalene?" I asked again.

"No." The voice repeated itself. "But I have need of your…talents."

"I'm pretty average," I frowned slightly, standing and brushing off my jeans. "Well, I am dead, right?"

Silence.

"I mean, a truck hit me, I don't think I could survive that…"

More silence.

"And if I'm not dead, this is all some dream conjured up by my subconscious to help me cope, which probably means I'm in a coma of some sort…"

"BE SILENT!" Came the shout, and I shrank back from the power in its tone.

After a few moments, a woman stepped out of the darkness and into my circle, and my gaze widened.

It was the crazy woman from the crosswalk.

"I do not wish to hear your prattle."

"Then why are you here?" I asked with childlike simplicity. "As attractive as you are physically, I don't get the vibe you'd be one to hang out with…I definitely wouldn't be dreaming of you by choice…"

The woman glared at me, but really, after getting chewed out by your mother for flunking a calculus final, there's not really much else out there that'll scare me.

"I want…you to die."

Her hands were around my neck quicker than I could blink, and my hands rose to her own to try and break her hold.

Her grip was unbreakable, though, and I quickly felt myself losing consciousness.

Behind her, even as my vision darkened once more, a strange looking doorway appeared out of the gloom, a few feet behind us.

Somehow, she noticed the ghostly apparition, her head whirling around to stare at the door as the grasp on my neck loosened slightly.

"Not yet," she hissed. "I don't have enough power yet!"

While she was distracted, I knew this was my last chance.

I hurled all my strength into my leg, smashing my knee into her abdomen.

She fell backwards, off balance, whirling about.

In her stumbling, she had turned so that I was closer to this mysterious apparatus, and before I could loosen her grip, she pitched forward, sending me through the door.

Then everything went black a second time.

123123123

"_I choose to live and to, grow_

_Take and give and to, move_

_Learn and love and to, cry"_

I recognized the bridge of Tool's 'Forty Six and Two', and groaned, pulling my pillow over my head.

"_Kill and die and to, be_

_Paraniod and to, lie_

_Hate and fear and to, do_

_What it takes to move through"_

I groaned, and reached blindly for the Ipod-equipped alarm clock.

That was the last time I ate…whatever I ate before bed.

Nightmare or not, Helena would definitely be pissy for rest of the day if I let my alarm wake her. Sound sleeper or not, I'd figured that about after a minute of sound, she'd wake up madder than a cat who's tale had been crushed by a piano leg.

My hands brushed my desk, but after groping blindly for a few moments, I couldn't locate the snooze button.

I cracked open one eye, and looked around blearily.

Immediately, its companion followed suit, and I focused in on my surroundings.

I came to a quick conclusion.

Wherever the hell I was, it certainly wasn't my dorm room.

I took several deep breaths, calming my racing mind, shutting off the unfamiliar alarm after a few moments.

"Helena?"

No response.

"Helena, I swear I won't make fun of your anime anymore if you come out…"

…Nothing.

"Okay…" I spoke aloud, hoping to keep myself from going insane. "Standard room, looks like a hotel of some sort, minimalist approach."

I looked down.

"Bed is sparse but comfortable…"

I took the liberty of a few bounces.

"Make that sleepable…"

I stepped out of the bed, glancing down at my apparel.

"Purple full body pajamas…" I felt the cloth, and twitched. "Apparently silk in nature."

I moved towards the drawn curtains, and threw them open with gusto.

"Large city, much larger than Minneapolis…" I peered down towards the ground. "Too far up to make out ethnic background…"

A strand of hair fell in front of my face, and I slid it back behind my ear idly…then did a double take, pulling it back out.

"Hair is..."

I raced towards what looked to be the bathroom, only to catch the edge of a chair and fall forward.

I managed to stop myself with my hands at the last moment, and then sighed when I noticed the purple nail polish.

"Purple seems to be a theme…if someone else dressed me **and** died my hair, be wary of psychotic tendencies involving themes.."

That last part was more wishful thinking on my part…in a "please, please, PLEASE let this not be the case" way.

I stood quickly, moving to the room, and flicking on the mirror.

Violet eyes peered back at me.

"Oh, God…"

Instead of my normal body, staring back through the reflective surface was the psychotic woman from my nightmare.

"Ah…" I licked my lips, staring at my reflection nervously. "God, if you're up there, and this is some sort of test, I'm pretty sure I didn't agree with the crazy demon lady who could've been Lucifer, so if you're listening...a sign or something?"

A few moments passed…nothing. Par for the course, then.

I narrowed my eyes, and moved back into the main space.

This time, I spotted a small briefcase

Opening the small locks, I peered at the first piece of paper.

It was a document of some sort, one with the psychotic woman's picture attached.

I looked at it. It almost seemed like some sort of identification, similar in spirit to a driver's license.

I glanced under it, where some sort of unknown symbols stood before me.

I paused.

On a second glance, the symbols looked rather close to either Chinese characters or Japanese kanji.

Unfortunately, Spanish had been my language of choice, as it had seemed rather logical at the time. Of course, my father had tried to push me towards Chinese, which, in his logical, business sense, was the perfect choice.

"Chinese is spoken by over 1/3 of the population on Earth!" I can clearly remember his distinctive rumble. "Mark my words, Shannon, one day, you'll be dealing directly with them, you should start learning now."

Unfortunately for him, my high school was limited to the European three: Spanish, German, and French. And out of the three, I chose the most logical choice.

I glanced down at the paper, willing the symbols to dissolve, and rearrange into words.

…Have you ever had one of those sudden, migraines where the pain just lances out and drops you to your knees?

Imagine that, only continuous waves lasting for a minute.

I clutched my head, the documents scattering over the floor as the briefcase fell to the ground, my body twitching spasmodically as I sank onto the bed.

An eternity later, (or 34 seconds, give or take, if you weren't the one actually experiencing the pain), the convulsions stopped, and the only sounds were my hoarse panting and the slight whir of the room's ventilation system kicking in.

My breathing slowed over time, and I eventually tried sitting up, wincing as my temples gave off a slight flare.

"What the F-"

My less than stellar choice of words was cut off when I looked down to the briefcase once more, and blinked.

Twice.

I picked up the document with the psychotic's picture again, and glanced down at the caption under it once more.

The words...were understandable.

It appeared to be a name of some sort.

"Kyuu Trista…what kind of name is that?"

I played the words over in my mind, but could find no significance.

"Okay…now, where the hell am I?"

My gaze focused on one of those small hotel menu cards, and I glanced at the top.

"Cerulean Tower, Tokyo Hotel…well, that indicates Japan…"

I let the information sink in.

Japan was at least a twenty hour flight, how in the name of…

A strand of black hair fell in front of my face again, and I sighed.

"I suppose that's the least of my worries."

I reached for the television remote on the nightstand, noting for the first time that the only outfit visible was the strange blouse and long skirt combination that the woman had been wearing when…

Wait, had I been attacked at all?

Was it possible that somehow, I really was this woman, and I had been in a coma or something?

It would explain how I knew Japanese…and I'd heard of a few stories where people who have been in severe accidents made up brand new lives while they were unconscious…

But if that was true…how did I know English?

Granted, Japan was in relatively good relations with the U.S., and English probably was the second language of choice besides Mandarin, but…

"Shannon Smith."

I spoke my name out loud.

"Shannon Smith."

I could catch no evidence of the accent that seemed to plague most who learn a language after their developmental years, though I did note that my voice had dropped a half a register, now a smooth alto instead of my usual soprano.

I looked down at the paper again.

"Kyuu Trista."

Pause.

"Kyuu…Trista."

I frowned. Both names sounded the same coming out of my mouth, but something was bugging me about Trista…

It didn't sound very Japanese, at least from my limited knowledge, but something about it seemed…just slightly familiar.

I rubbed my temples slowly, moving them in small circles, trying to calm down.

If worse came to worse, I'd find a way back to the U.S…after making about a thousand dollars…how much was the conversion of yen to dollars, anyways? I knew it had dropped below 150 on average, but hadn't kept up, being more interested in the euro.

I slipped out of the pajamas, replacing them with the blouse and skirt combination from earlier, not walking out in pajamas winning out over unease in dressing in someone else's clothes, no matter how well they fit.

Fortunately for my modesty, the blouse, which had been showing a fair bit more cleavage than I was usually comfortable with, had two buttons, to which I fastened the first, nodding in satisfaction.

Curiosity won out, and I moved back to the briefcase, looking past the top layer of documents, and blinked as a fairly large wad of 10,000 yen notes stared back at me amidst more papers.

Well, there went the money issue...and the reaffirmation that whoever I was currently was crazy enough to carry around this much money instead of having it in a bank.

Shrugging, I took a few bills, and placed it into a nondescript looking wallet, which was placed into a handbag, the same color as my blouse.

An internal note was made to find a blouse with sleeves if nothing else. A new wardrobe was definitely needed.

I peeked my head into the bathroom once more, giving myself a once over.

Pearl earrings and that ridiculous necklace stared back at me, and I shook my head.

I had limits, and those things were beyond tacky, descending into outright trashy.

My hair, at least, appeared to be in good condition, almost as if I hadn't been to sleep at all.

Shrugging once more, (it was either play things by ear or be reduced to the fetal position, and I'd much rather prefer against the latter, thanks) I snatched the room card from the countertop.

Turning back to the briefcase, I gave it one last once over.

On the very last page, I caught one last detail.

_**This identity manufactured by Tomoe Laboratories.**_

I stared.

So either I was stupid enough to travel around with a briefcase which blatantly stated my false identity, or this was back to being some elaborate hoax. If Ashton Kutcher popped out, he was getting a knee to the groin before he could open his obnoxious mouth.

But that didn't explain how I could read Japanese, or how I'd gotten there in the first place.

Chloroform would provide for the second, but the first….that didn't make any sense.

My stomach growled suddenly, informing me of its less than full state.

Heck with it, I always thought better after eating, anyways.

Closing the briefcase and placing it in one of the drawers, I put on a pair of sandals, and breezed out of the room, shutting it securely behind me.

123123123

The elevator was an interesting experience.

I was joined by an old couple, and several times I was **sure** the old man was about to reach for my butt, only to have his hand slapped away by the old woman.

I could never catch either action, of course, but I knew.

I exited the opening doors quickly, moving over to the check-in desk.

"Excuse me…" My eyes darted to the young woman's nametag, trying to vaguely remember Wikipedia's entry on correct social communication. "Suzuki-san."

"Yes?"

I sighed in relief. It looked like my thoughts were coming out in the correct language.

"Where might I find a suitable eating establishment?"

"Of what type, Miss?"

"Western, if you know of any."

The young woman paused, thinking.

"Ah, yes, five blocks to the left, there is a place which serves decent American, if you are so inclined."

"Thank you very much." I smiled, and the young woman blushed.

"Not a problem, have a nice day."

I exited out the revolving door, and moved in the indicated direction.

My nose began to twitch.

Pizza.

I increased the pace slightly, following the scent.

"Good afternoon, Ma'am." The employee greeted me as I opened the door. "Would you like to order now?"

"4 cheese medium," I spoke without hesitation, my usual order coming out reflexively.

"Ah..what was that, Ma'am?" The youth looked at me as if I'd spoken…a foreign language.

"4 cheese medium?" I asked again, testing my theory, and the kid's smile started to strain.

Another sigh escaped my lips. It appeared I had to concentrate; otherwise, I'd revert back to speaking English

"4 cheese medium pizza, please." I spoke each word slowly, and the smile was now genuine.

"Coming right up!"

The boy's enthusiasm was catchy, and I smiled once more, watching the youth in action as he shot towards the back, bringing out a familiar looking square box.

"Is that all, Ma'am?"

I picked out a bottle of water from the nearby cooler.

"This too."

The boy nodded, and moved to the cash register.

"That'll be 1,399 yen."

I handed him one of my notes, and stepped out the door, tuning out his surprised response.

Suddenly, the boy was in front of my face, holding what appeared to be my change in his hand.

"Ma'am, you forgot your change!"

I raised an eyebrow.

"That I did, didn't I?"

The boy held out his hand, and I accepted the bills and coins, sticking one back into his hand.

"Keep it for your honesty."

He tried to argue, but I closed his hand with my own, and stepped back.

The boy stopped for a moment, and bowed to me.

I tilted my head downwards in response, hoping it was correct, and watched the young man scamper back to the store.

Taking my pizza with me, I moved to one of the many benches, and sat down with my prize, opening it up.

It was all I could do to keep from moaning in delight as the untarnished smell of tomato sauce, baked cheese, and toasted dough hit my olfactory senses.

Taking out a slice, I bit into it, and made a mental note to return to the store as soon as I came down from bliss.

A half an hour later, I was enjoying the pleasure of people watching while sipping my water.

Everything was so much more…ordered here. The crowd moved as a whole, unfettered by personal desires.

I stood slowly, moving my bangs back behind my ear as I crossed towards the nearest waste bin.

As I dropped the box and bottle into the large container, I spotted a newspaper stand.

I inserted a 100 yen coin, and pulled out a paper, shutting the tray behind me.

The headline made my blood run cold.

"_Senshi sightings down after last few months._"

Right below it, there was a blurry, but recognizable picture of Sailor Moon.

I continued reading, my shock growing as I glanced over the caption under the picture.

"_In the last few months, the various sightings of the Sailor Senshi, Juuban's most illustrious masked heroes, have declined. Authorities have no comment."_

Oh, God.

I had lost it. Completely and utterly.

I glanced down at myself, and with a sudden flicker of recognition, I recognized the name Trista.

It was Sailor Pluto's civilian name in the anime I had watched.

I giggled slightly, becoming more and more unhinged as I continued to stare at the picture.

Even Ashton Kutcher would have been preferable to this.

Another flash of insight hit me, and I glanced at the semi-reflective glass of a nearby business lobby.

Just before I had stopped watching, I vaguely remembered the season finale of the third season…

What was her name, that crazy parasite or whatever that had infested Sailor Saturn…

Beryl? No, she was first season….and some crazy family from the future were the second season…..

The knowledge dropped me to another bench quicker than having my knees smashed to pieces by a baseball bat.

Mistress Nine.

Sanity was officially on indefinite vacation.

Author's Postscript.

I thought I'd do something a little different than most SI's, where the author goes into one of the main character's minds, or is someone totally irrelevant yet somehow manages getting mixed up in things.

This is unbeta'd, I thought I'd post it first, and see if anyone liked it. I do have a beta though, so there will probably be a revision fairly soon, but I don't anticipate anything huge…I think.

Thanks for reading, and if it's not too much trouble, a review would be most appreciated.

Thanks much,

Mia Void


End file.
